


No1CapFan

by Lillyjk



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Coulson Lives, Fix-It, M/M, it gave me pheels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-02-19 13:53:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2390735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillyjk/pseuds/Lillyjk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fic for lavvyan</p><p>Who wanted:<br/>C/C, they both want to buy the same Captain America trinket :D</p><p>(I am so sorry but this gave me so many Pheels). I meant for it to be fluffy and flirty but this happened.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	No1CapFan

 

_No1CapFan, you have been outbid. You did not win item Captain America Vintage Trading Card, like new condition. This auction has ended._

Phil scrubbed a hand across his face as he read the email again. He knew he shouldn’t have signed off before the auction ended. If it had been anybody other than Barton at the door he probably wouldn’t have. Damn Barton and his puppy dog eyes and his, “Hey, I brought pizza, let’s watch the game,” and his actual scruffy dog on a scruffier leash looking up at Phil with his tongue hanging out.

Phil had closed his laptop and let them in and they’d turned on the game. Barton had spent most of the night fiddling with his phone and Phil had alternated between scratching absently at Lucky’s neck and fighting the urge to do the same to Barton. He’d bet that Barton would get that same dopey look on his face, eyes half-closed, body relaxed.

He didn’t touch Barton, of course. He had implemented a very strict, don’t touch the asset rule just because of Barton. He had a feeling the if he ever touched Barton outside of an op or a medical emergency, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

Even now with Barton asleep in his guest room, undoubtedly with morning pizza breath, Phil wanted to touch him. Wanted to run his hands over the muscular body, find all those sensitive spots.

Phil heard Lucky padding down the hallway and knew Barton wouldn’t be far behind. Time to get his Agent face on. He looked at the email one more time and then clicked delete. Maybe another one would come up for auction soon, even though he’d spent more than a year waiting for a chance at this one. He just needed one more for a complete set.

***

April 30, 2012

Three weeks later he’d forgotten (mostly) about the trading card when he found an envelope on his desk. He recognized Barton’s messy scrawl and frowned. Barton had been assigned to the Tesseract project with Selvig for the last week or so and wasn’t due back for another week at least. The envelope was obviously hand delivered, no postmark.

He slit the end and reached in, pulling out some kind of official looking certificate and a small square case. What the? He popped the case open with a snap.

"To complete your collection,"the note read. Instead of signing it, Barton had drawn a smiley face with a curved arrow as a mouth. The final card, the one Phil had lost the auction on, was nestled under the note.

***

The weeks after the battle of New York passed in a haze for Clint. There were endless tests from the scientists and doctors at SHIELD to make sure no vestiges of Loki’s control remained, a surprisingly painless meeting with Fury, an unsurprisingly brutal kick in the ass/pep talk from Natasha. She was the only other person who had even an inking of what Phil had meant to him.

He spent most days training too hard and most nights curled up on the couch with Lucky. He lost weight he couldn’t really afford to lose because nothing tasted quite right any more. He watched hours of shitty TV, the bad reality stuff that Phil liked.

The note came a month after the battle. The only reason he heard the little swish the envelope made when it slid under his door was because he’d muted a particularly obnoxious commmercial. By the time he got the door unlocked, the hallway was empty.

The envelope was unmarked and Clint was wary enough to dig out a pair of gloves before he slit it open. There was nothing inside except a sticky note stuck to the outside of a battered looking paper, so old the creases where it was folded looked almost shiny from age.

The sticky note said, “Don’t believe what you’ve been told. Help me with my new collection.” It wasn’t signed, but there was a doodle of a rather sedate happy face, a tie dangling down below the mouth.

Clint felt his heart start beating faster as he pulled the sticky note off and gently placed it on the table. His hands were shaking a bit as he unfolded the paper. It was a hand drawn flier from nearly 20 years ago, from his circus days.

For the first time in way too long, Clint smiled.


End file.
